22
Tixall Poetry.
The Muses onely Sol alow
To clime Parnassus loftye brow.
The cheekes an earthly garden bed,
With lilys and with roses spreade;
The forehead is a spheare de vine,
Where plants not grow, but planits shine.
The torid zone may now be past,
With every saile, and every mast,
But thats a venterous vessel dares
Goe plow the ice o'th poler starres.
Leander-like, the calme I hate
Upon the smoothest cheekes to wate,
But love the furrowed Hellespont
Of my deare cruells swelling front.
The sinner his temtation seekes
I' th' earthy aples of the cheekes;
But thats a saintly paradise
That beares the aples of the eyes.
The cheeke, or age or death devowrs,
As soft and fading as its flowres;
The foreheads bloome no season culls,
But keepes its forme in buried sculls.
To clime Parnassus loftye brow.
The cheekes an earthly garden bed,
With lilys and with roses spreade;
The forehead is a spheare de vine,
Where plants not grow, but planits shine.
The torid zone may now be past,
With every saile, and every mast,
But thats a venterous vessel dares
Goe plow the ice o'th poler starres.
Leander-like, the calme I hate
Upon the smoothest cheekes to wate,
But love the furrowed Hellespont
Of my deare cruells swelling front.
The sinner his temtation seekes
I' th' earthy aples of the cheekes;
But thats a saintly paradise
That beares the aples of the eyes.
The cheeke, or age or death devowrs,
As soft and fading as its flowres;
The foreheads bloome no season culls,
But keepes its forme in buried sculls.
